• The Daily Telegraph
• Le Figaro
• The New York Post
• L’Orient-Le Jour
• L'Osservatore Romano
• The Irish Times
• Conservative Home
• The Jewish Chronicle

• FAZ / Eng.
• NZZ / Eng.
• Magyar Nemzet
• ABC.es
• The Catholic Herald
• Il Foglio
• London Playbook
• Financial Times

France

Mitteleuropa

Knickerbockers

Argentina

The Levant

Africa

Cape of Good Hope

Netherlands

Scandinavia

Québec

India

Muscovy

Germany

Part the First: In Which Cusack Takes to the Rails

The great St Andrean, Russell Kirk, despised the automobile, calling it ‘the mechanical Jacobin’. I am not altogether inclined to agree but the late Dr. Kirk and I are in accordance with one another over the pleasures of travelling by rail. It is seven hours direct from Leuchars Junction to London King’s Cross, but a pleasant journey nonetheless.

We departed Leuchars on time at 9:30am and stopped at Edinburgh Waverley at 10:32. From the north, the train crawls into the city beside the massive dark crag of Edinburgh Castle, after which the spires of the Mound come into view. By 11:30 we were in England, passing by Berwick-upon-Tweed, the municipality which has the strange situation of being a Scottish town but on the English side of the border. Just two minutes before midday, 300 miles north of London near a town called Acklington I discovered, upon looking outwards from my seat, that the horses of this region have taken to wearing cloaks. Remarkable.

From the route of the railway, the passenger has the advantage of being able to see both Durham Cathedral and York Minster (in southerly succession) and then finally Peterborough Cathedral, which I’ve always thought looks rather awkward. We finally trawled into King’s Cross a few minutes after 4:00pm, and I was slightly cross to see the London Underground ticket machines do not accept Scottish bank notes, forcing me to wait in line and deal with a real, live, terse, and unappreciative human.

Part the Second: In Which Cusack Visits the Travellers Club

Having settled in where I was staying, I scurried off to the Travellers Club on Pall Mall (stopping along the way only to get a prayer in at the Oratory) for the little affair which, in fact, was the reason for my journey down to London. It’s a beautiful club of a not-overwhelming size with a beautiful staircase, the kind of which one feels ought to be ascended slowly and with dignity. (The Drones it is not). The party was held to proclaim the U.K. launch of the New Criterion in the hopes of furthering the renown and appreciation of the greatest cultural review in the English-speaking world in the land which brought forth the very language. We had, I believe, nearly two hundred people in the library of the Travellers Club during the course of the evening, some familiar faces but more often very familiar names to which I can now assign faces. One of the first folks I met was the doctor and writer Anthony Daniels (also known as Theodore Dalrymple) who has just left England to live in France (in the Ardeche, was it?). There were also, among others, the Obituaries editor of the Daily Telegraph (who won’t smoke filtered cigarettes), the Rev. Peter Mullen, social commentator and Chaplain to the Stock Exchange, and the rather charming Paul Dean, Head of English at the Dragon School in Oxford, with whom I enjoyed conversing. Fellow St Andrean Merrie Cave of the Salisbury Review and I discussed how smoking has replaced sex as the ultimate taboo in the eyes of universities today. Roger Scruton couldn’t come, because he’s just moved to Virginia hunt country, of course.

Afterwards, James Panero having highed off to the Athenaeum, Dawn Steeves coralled a number of us into cabs destined for the Windsor Castle pub in Notting Hill where we continued to debate, agree, disagree, digress and whatnot on into the night. Eventually I decided I had consumed enough red wine and dark ale and called it a night myself.

Part the Third: In Which Cusack Enjoys the Company of Old Friends

On the morning of the next day I met Chris C. (St Andrews ’05) for coffee on High Street Kensington. C. and I disserted all the latest news, and I enjoyed hearing about his latest (mis?)adventure before we headed to Nilene Hennessy’s flat to enjoy a pork roast with potatoes. Nilene was out, but after our luncheon we met her and her younger sister Donalyn for more coffee. Donalyn is currently studying veterinary pharmacology.

AC: “So are there any major differences between veterinary pharmacology and human pharmacology?”
DH: “Well, it’s for animals.”

We all tarried a while, but eventually I headed towards my next appointment, amply relayed to yourself in…

Part the Fourth: In Which Cusack Goes A-Churching

A little after 4 o’clock, I met up with Ed Henley, another fairly recent St Andrews graduate, in the narthex of Westminster Cathedral, where he currently lives and works. Shamefully, I had never before visited the Mother Church of Catholic Britain in all its glory. After taking tea in a sort of lounge within the Cathedral complex, he took me on a grand tour of the place. Around the nave, the side chapels, down into the crypt, and even up into the rafters. Interestingly, Ed tells me that there was originally supposed to be a Benedictine congregation at the Cathedral, and strangely enough the monks’ cells were built atop and overlooking the nave. You can see little balconies for each cell hanging off the sides of the nave. Of course, it was a terribly impractical idea, owing to the many, many circular stairs the inhabitant would need to climb to reach his cell, and at any rate such a foundation was never actually started.

The sacristy is massive, and Ed was eager to show off Westminster’s cappe magne. “Even got the winter one,” quoth Ed, “with all the fluff.” Nice dalmatics as well.

The mosaics, at least those which have been completed, are amazing. The Chapel of St Andrew even has a mosaic depiction of the town of St Andrews above the arms of the Marquess of Bute. (A poor view of it can be found here). The majority of the mosaic work is unfinished, and would presumably take years and years, not to mention millions and millions of pounds to complete, however some plans are being drawn up and considered. “We’re rather hoping the Americans will pay for it,” Ed explained. “There’s a tendency for Americans to just sort of pop in one day, fall in love with the place, and donate a few million.” (The American Friends of Westminster Cathedral is a nonprofit 501(c)(3) organization, and thus contributions are tax-deductible for those interested. See here).

I attended the choral vespers in the beautiful Lady Chapel, and stayed for the following Mass in the main sanctuary, which was offered in a resplendently reverent and sacred manner. Westminster Cathedral is a beautiful place, physically ablaze with Christianity, and, like the Church, as yet unfinished. I rather fell for the place and feel obliged to visit it again.

Part the Fifth: In Which the Churching Continues

My last event in London was meeting up with Tori Truett (yes, another St Andrean, but one of the most delightful) that evening for the inaugural meeting of the Brompton Oratory’s youth group (ages 18-35, I think). Frs. Rupert, Julian, and Michael gave brief chats about their hopes for the group and the general shape of future events and then food and drink were enjoyed by all. Met some interesting folks including an Oxford friend of John Lamont, a Canadian from Vancouver, and a chap named Vandenberg (can’t recall his first name) who’s sister just graduated from St Andrews and has ten siblings! Now that’s what I call the Catholic response to the Culture of Death! Someone’s got to outbreed the heathen.

Finale

Back up to Scotland today, though I met with no cloaked members of the equine species on the return journey. A giant rainbow, however, arched across the sky just a bit past Ladybank a few minutes before reaching Leuchars and taking a cab back to St Andrews. A very pleasant journey, and hopefully one that can be made again soon.

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